


a dog made to heel

by badbavarois



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbavarois/pseuds/badbavarois
Summary: She could kill Skurge without even trying. All things considered, he would probably thank her.





	a dog made to heel

**Author's Note:**

> oof i wrote het and marvel who am i  
> anyway ty to ray for editing, all further mistakes are my own

The first time he sees her - cold, dark eyes, radiating  _ power  _ \- he knows he’s seen her before. A long forgotten fresco in a corner, a book that should have been burned. She is something ancient, unknowable, indestructible. 

 

She could kill Skurge without even trying. All things considered, he would probably thank her.

 

“I’m just the janitor,” he says, because he’s not ready to die just yet as they stand in the Bifrost, Fandral and Volstagg dead, blood pooling and growing rust red. 

 

She smiles, teeth sharp. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could read his mind, see his past and future, manipulate it to best suit her needs. “You look like a smart boy with good survival instincts. How would you like a job?”

 

…

 

He watches her fight, strikes down every warrior of Asgard. She is unstoppable. No matter whose sword, whose arrow, hits her, she never even stumbles, fights to regain her balance. Just continues to summon knives out of the abyss, long jagged blades. 

 

He knows the name of everyone she kills, from the warriors to the children. He stands in the shadows and tells himself he made the right decision. 

 

But still, looking at her - Hela, goddess of death, of the unknowable reaches of the cosmos, he knows how the inhabitants of Midgard must have felt in the presence of gods. Fear, admiration, the heart-sinking knowledge that you are  _ nothing.  _

 

“Oh, I’ve missed this,” she says, surrounded by the fallen Einherjar. She holds two knives, untouched by blood. Her war helmet glints in the sunlight. “Still, it’s a shame. Good soldiers dying for nothing… all because they couldn’t see the future. Sad.” 

 

For a moment, he thinks she may care just the slightest bit for the dead, but then she’s skewering Hogun like a piece of meat. Skurge is no stranger to death. He has risen every morning to wage war on Valhalla's fields before drinking himself stupid in her halls every night, but this is different. This is carnage without purpose. Without need. 

 

But still - there is a flickering in his heart as he leads her to her throne, like a dog made to heel. Made to love a master who doesn’t care.

 

…

 

He kneels at her throne, facing out to the empty hall. Head tipped back, her nails piercing flesh. A knife to his jugular. He doesn’t breathe, forces himself to remain completely still. 

 

“You are  _ mine,”  _ she says, pushes the knife in. Blood beads on his neck like pearls. He sucks in a breath, shaky and unsure. “Do you understand what that means?”

 

“Yes, Queen.” Each word makes the knife cut in a little more. 

 

She’ll heal him, once she’s done - she always does. But still, there’s a rush of fear up his spine. She makes him feel like a caged animal, locked away and ready to be lead to the slaughter. But still, as she keeps pushing the knife in and he tilts his head back further, she kisses him, cold lips and bitter skin, and he kisses back harder. 

 

…

 

Fingers to his neck, sticky with drying blood as he lays in her bed. 

 

Hela whispers in a language too ancient for Skurgee to know, but recognition hums in his bones. She’s never careful with him while she weaves the  seidr, refuses skin and muscle and bone. He screams and she smiles, whispers,  _ Does that hurt, my executioner?  _

 

She leaves him shaking, a trail of blood and leather behind her, him yearning for more. 

 

…

 

He lays on the ground, broken, as the spaceship flies away, ferrying the refugees somewhere Hela cannot reach them. There is no seidr to heal his wounds.

 

“Oh, my little executioner,” she coos, cradling his head in her lap. He wants to tell her to leave, that she’ll get blood on her dress, but he can’t move. “You’ve flown too far from the nest.”

 

She’s right; he has - he betrayed her, sided with Thor and his kind. 

 

“I can’t believe you betrayed me for  _ Thor.  _ He doesn’t even care about Asgard, not like I did. He destroyed it just to spite me.”

 

She presses her thumbs into the soft skin between his eyes. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out, just a high pitch squeal, like a spoon scraping the side of a bowl.

 

“You’re worse than me, do you realize that?” She relinquishes the pressure, scratches his close shaved hair. “You’re loyal to no one except yourself. You joined me to keep yourself alive. You joined Thor to live.”

 

Her eyes burn, anger simmering just below the surface. Skurge still thinks she’s beautiful. 

 

“The second you decided to care about someone else, you killed yourself. If you’re going to be selfish,  _ remain  _ selfish. Otherwise, you just look stupid.”

 

“Hela - “ he manages to whisper. She just sneers, lips turned cruel.

 

“I could have made you live forever,” she says, standing. She wipes her hands on her skirt. She raises her foot, a thick-soled combat boot made for war, and stomps, crushing his windpipe. She grinds her foot down, bones snapping. 

 

He struggles for air, choking on blood. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes. She leans down, wipes his face clean with the pad of her thumb. “You are nothing.”

 

And then - Asgard is gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are appreciated, requests are open but not guaranteed.   
> twitter - cactixix  
> tumblr - shuos-jedao or claude-lit


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